Page List


Font:  

How was I supposed to fix this?

How was I supposed to make it right for him?

I’d spent their entire lives trying to make my boys bulletproof. I’d done shit no ordinary parent would ever condone, I’d forged them in hell to make them ready for heaven, making an enemy out of each of them to protect them from the fuckers out there.

They thought I was a monster?

That was nothing to the Fieris of this world.

I had standards. I didn’t touch kids. I didn’t sell sex slaves.

My boys were my heirs. The city was my bequest to them. They’d rule over it together. Just like I should have done with my brothers until they’d been torn from me.

Ripped away.

I never wanted that for my boys, so I made them strong. I made them tight-knit. I made them a unit. Sacrificing what I should have had with each of them. I’d done that to protect them, but on my watch, under my fucking eye, a man of God had touched Conor.

My boy.

My fucking boy.

My head slammed back into the wall.

Once.

Twice.

Four times.

Six.

"Da! Stop it!"

Junior was there, in my face, his hands on my shoulders as he grabbed me. Finn was there next, both of them hauling me away from the wall, but I fought them both. My two boys, for all that one was injured, were normally both stronger than me—not at that moment. I tossed them both aside and twisted around, my forehead slamming into the drywall.

Two times.

Five.

I didn’t even feel the pain.

Grief robbed me of it.

How did I fix this?

How could I fix the unfixable?

"Conor," I shouted, tears in my eyes, burning like acid, sinking through soft flesh like they were made from cotton candy. "My fucking boy." Judders of emotion rolled through me as I pulled back from the wall, then slammed one fist into it before letting the other rip.

"Da! Stop this. I ain’t finished explaining," Junior hollered, grabbing me by the shoulders again and trying to stop me, trying to keep me still.

But there was no keeping the monster still.

He was out.

He needed blood.

I twisted around so I could snarl, "Fuck your explanations." I snatched Junior by the collar, hauled him close, and snapped, "Did the fucker touch you?"


Tags: Serena Akeroyd Five Points' Mob Collection Erotic